


Deconstructing Gods

by Crown_of_Winterthorne



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 10:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6654463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crown_of_Winterthorne/pseuds/Crown_of_Winterthorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all begins at a party, when Quatre asks, "Have you ever thought about... like... us...?"</p><p>Expanded from a 4x6 drabble request by ClaraxBarton, in which the morning after isn't as awkward as Quatre feared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deconstructing Gods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/gifts).
  * Inspired by [54 Prompt Tumblr Requests: GW Edition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604858) by [Crown_of_Winterthorne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crown_of_Winterthorne/pseuds/Crown_of_Winterthorne). 



> Thanks again to ClaraxBarton for the request; this unusual little rare pairing has turned out to be quite promising! While I originally anticipated angst, it turns out that they're quite sweet together. (The angst will come later, I'm sure.) I hope you like it!
> 
> Title taken from the Blaqk Audio song of the same name. 
> 
> Un-beta'd.

It was only natural, Quatre supposed, that they would become closer. War had made strange bedfellows of them all and peace had made them stranger still. Between Preventers and running the family business, he saw Zechs perhaps more than most of the other pilots did, save for Wufei. Heero was most often was with Relena, Duo on L2, and Trowa... Well. It was hard to know where Trowa was at any given moment these days.

But Zechs—they all preferred to use the old _nom de guerre_ , including the man himself—he saw often. At work, at parties, sometimes just by chance. It wasn't in Quatre to hold grudges and he found it somehow easy to strike up conversation with the older pilot. 

He supposed that their shared experiences with the ZERO and Epyon systems and paternal legacies they couldn't live up to might have had something to do with it.

Still... The gradual attraction had been a surprise. Or maybe not, considering that Quatre did seem to have a thing for tall men in masks.

He found the courage to broach the subject at the bottom of a champagne glass at one of the many ESUN state dinners that required their attendance as Prince Milliardo and CEO Winner. They had escaped to the relative privacy of a garden balcony that was off limits to the general assemblage of nobility and colonists. Anything to get away from the social pressures of their titles. To get away from the older ladies who always seemed to have a granddaughter who would be just perfect for one of them. Sometimes one for each.

"Have you ever thought about... like... us...?" Quatre asked, pleased that he had managed to sound more thoughtful than hesitant.

"I beg your pardon?"

Quatre refused to blush. Refused to appear ruffled. He'd gotten much better at it after so many years of being the youngest man in the board room. Of being Duo's friend.

"Us," he repeated. "You know I'm not interested in any of the girls inside. I suppose I just wondered... about you. And me."

Zechs arched an elegant brow. He rarely appeared surprised but Quatre had come to recognize this brand of amusement as just another facade. "You want to know if I'm gay."

Now Quatre blushed, smiling in spite of himself. "I was trying not to be blunt. Or rude. I didn't do a very good job of it, did I?"

"Not particularly," Zechs returned the smile. "I thought you already knew."

"I've heard rumors," he admitted, ashamed that he was being rude again. Zechs had become his friend, after all, and some of the rumors were... less than palatable.

The taller blond shared his discomfort, looking away and his smile turning self-mocking before vanishing completely. Quatre hated that he had made his friend retreat behind the stoic court mask that he wore among others. He was doing that single-minded thing again, that thing that had made him a great tactician but also susceptible to ZERO's whims. He started to apologize again, to change the subject, but Zechs answered, his deep voice gone soft. 

"I prefer women, but yes. There have been men. A man."

Quatre didn't press. There were some lines he wasn't willing to cross, not when he knew the answer already. Not when he had already made things awkward between them.

"I'm sorry."

Zechs shook his head, throwing back the last of his drink—he had eschewed the champagne for Crown Royal instead—and turned towards Quatre. "No."

Quatre winced at the finality in Zechs' voice. This wasn't how he had intended things to go. Not even close. "I shouldn't have—"

"No," Zechs said again. He caught Quatre's shoulder in a gentle grip. "Don't apologize."

And then he kissed him.

* * *

Quatre had thought to leave in the early morning hours, to gather his clothes and slip out before the staff at the Peacecraft estate began to buzz with talk. It was a good plan in theory, perhaps, but he hadn't anticipated that Zechs would already be up, standing in front of the wide windows with his hair loosely ponytailed and a mug of coffee in his hands.

Hands that had spent the better part of the night tracing over Quatre's skin, finding old scars and sensitive places that had never been explored quite so thoroughly. Quatre blushed to remember the way Zechs had smiled, pleased, when he confessed that he'd never gone further than oral sex. The way he had spent what felt like ages afterward, opening Quatre with fingers and tongue. How he had held Quatre's hips with those strong, graceful hands as he pushed inside, slow and agonizingly wonderful.

Quatre swallowed hard, sitting up on the bed with the sheets gathered in his lap. He ached a little, body protesting the new and interesting uses he'd found for it the night before.

"Zechs."

The other blond looked over, his beautiful half-nude body haloed by the morning light, and smiled. It was a smile Quatre wasn't used to seeing, but he thought that he might do anything to keep it. It was worth staying to see Zechs looking young and at peace, unburdened by the weight he usually carried.

"Good morning," he offered a second mug to Quatre—a bag of English Breakfast was already steeping in the hot water. "Did you sleep well?"

"I... Yes." He found himself at a bit of a loss. He'd hoped to avoid gossipy staff, but it occurred to Quatre that he had also hoped to avoid this moment. He had never liked feeling out of his element, and this certainly qualified. He never liked feeling like a coward either, so he admitted, "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't know what I'm supposed to say. Am I supposed to say anything?"

"There's no right or wrong," Zechs assured him with a soft chuckle. He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbow so that he was draped over Quatre's lower legs. "Would you like to stay for breakfast?"

"Whatever will the staff think? Or your sister?" He was only half-joking.

Zechs made a face. "I imagine my sister is still preoccupied with Heero at this hour. As for the staff, they know better than to whisper outside of this house. They all signed nondisclosures when they came to work for Relena."

"That's something of a relief, actually," Quatre said. "So if any lingering photographers were to see me leave later in the morning... they wouldn't have anyone to tell them that I didn't spend the night in a guest room."

The smile that Zechs gave him was a bit wicked, aware that Quatre too had a reputation to protect and that getting something over on the paparazzi was something to be enjoyed.

"Correct."

"After all, my friends live here."

"And it certainly isn't the first time you've stayed the night."

Quatre blushed a little but managed to sound flirty when he added, "Nor the last, I hope?"

"Is that what you want?" Zechs asked.

"Do you?" The nerves were back. He knew he shouldn't feel so anxious but he hadn't been joking about what he was supposed to say or do. He didn't want to seem clingy if Zechs had only wanted a one-night stand, nor did he want to seem casual when it was nothing of the sort. 

Zechs sat up, reaching across to put his coffee on the night stand and then doing the same with Quatre's untouched tea. He pressed a soft kiss to Quatre's mouth, locks of their pale hair mingling. It seemed both answer and no answer at all.

"This is all new to me," Quatre whispered, unable to open his eyes. The press of Zechs' cheek was rough against his own.

"I know," he rumbled, sliding fingertips along the curve of Quatre's collarbone. "When you asked me about us... tell me—what kind of answer did you hope for?"

"I... well, I had hoped to sleep with you," he smiled in spite of himself, "but... I hoped that you might consider us as... us. That you might want to date me."

"I think we've done things a bit backward."

Quatre laughed, leaning back to look at Zechs with mirth in his eyes. The other man's wry sense of humor felt familiar and set him at ease. "We have, haven't we? But we've been friends for a long time too."

Zechs nodded, his smile answer enough.

"I've always thought..." Quatre started, trying not to let his memories and old hopes overshadow the moment. "I've always wanted to be friends with my lovers first."

"I find that it's more enjoyable that way too." Zechs crawled over him to lay on his back, tugging Quatre to lay tucked against his side. He sighed deeply, laughing when Quatre wiggled around until he was curled up facing Zechs, head on his chest and sheets tangled around his hips. His feet trailed off the side of the bed.

"Better?" Zechs asked, idly stroking one pale thigh.

"Yes. I like seeing your face."

"So do I," he tucked one arm beneath his head, meeting Quatre's blue-green eyes with his own pale blue ones. In the morning light, they looked like glaciers, softened only by the expression of contentment on Zechs' face. "I'll admit, Quatre, I never thought of us dating. I'd thought you would prefer someone with a lower profile."

"It would be easier," he agreed, "but I like you. You... understand me."

"I'm not the only one."

"No, but you're the one I talk to most." He traced patterns over Zechs' chest, trying to find the correct words. He didn't want to sound self-pitying or resentful of his friends' freedom to live their lives the way they wanted. Some days he wished that he had never reassumed the mantle of heir. Yet running away from his father's shadow wouldn't have been right either. "We have similar responsibilities. Expectations."

"Frustrations?"

Quatre smiled. "Yes."

Zechs reached up to touch his cheek, brushing aside a strand of hair more golden than his own platinum. "I'm not sure we could build a relationship on that."

"That does sound a little pathetic, doesn't it?"

"Neither of us are lonely enough for that. But we _are_ friends." He slid his thumb over Quatre's lower lip. "And I'd very much like if last night wasn't the last."

"Me too," he said, feeling something loosen in his chest that he hadn't been aware was tight.

"When do you have to leave for the colonies?" Zechs asked softly, still caressing his face with callused but gentle fingers. 

"A week, but I'm going to Algiers and Marrakesh for a tour of the company's new facilities before I go back to space. I'm flying out tomorrow."

"We should make the most of it then. Dinner?"

"What about that breakfast you mentioned?" Quatre reminded him, amused.

"Both?"

"I like both."

Zechs flashed him a lazy smile, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. "Hm. Me too. However, I find that I'm not quite hungry for breakfast yet."

"No?" Quatre caught the change in his tone, the carefully worded turn of phrase. He might have been unpracticed in morning after etiquette, but he knew wordplay very well.

He got to his knees beside Zechs, the sheet still pooled in his lap, so tangled around his hips that there wasn't much option for it to do anything else. He slid a hand over Zechs' stomach, following the dips and swells of well-formed muscles, the divot of his navel. Zechs cracked one eye open to look at him and Quatre, to his credit and satisfaction, didn't blush.

"Tell me..." he whispered, "tell me what you like."

Zechs smiled, stretching both arms above his head to grip the headboard, arching his back in a sensual way that Quatre knew was on purpose. He'd never seen a man writhe like that, though he was sure he'd done something similar the night before. He was also sure that Zechs made it look a lot more elegant than he had. 

"I like your mouth," Zechs dropped his already low voice to a rumble that went straight to Quatre's stomach. "I like kissing you. I like feeling your lips on mine. On my skin."

Quatre shivered and leaned forward, one hand on the center of Zechs' chest for balance, to kiss him. Soft at first, then deeper, licking into his mouth as if he would claim the prince as his own. Where Zechs had set the mood before, now Quatre took the lead. He had always liked kissing too. He pressed gentle kisses to his lower lip, caught it between his teeth before licking away the small hurt. When Zechs growled in appreciation, he did it again before nipping his way down his jaw to suck at a tender spot beneath his ear.

"What else?" Quatre asked, breathy but not because of nerves.

"Keep going," Zechs let go of the headboard to run his fingers through Quatre's hair. "Keep kissing me, pretty one."

He laughed, shaking his head and wrinkling his nose at the endearment the way he had when Zechs first tried using it. "We talked about this."

"Then whatever shall I call you?" Zechs sat up, effortlessly pinning the smaller man beneath him and kissing his neck. Quatre let him do it, lacing their fingers together and baring his throat.

"Call me by my name," he whispered. "I love how you say it."

Zechs said his name like it was meant to be pronounced, short and sharp. If he drew out the "a" it was only because he was moaning it. It was better than any pet name the man could have thought up.

"Quatre," he nodded, understanding. Quatre had known he would. This man with three names, each of them as much a mask as the one he'd once worn. Strange how the one he had chosen to hide behind for so long was the one that best reflected his honor, his loyalty, his passion.

Names meant so much and so little all at once. Especially among their motley group of friends.

"Quatre," Zechs said again, "my dear Quatre."

"Yes," he said, but what he meant was: _Exactly, yes. Yours. And you are my dear Zechs._

Zechs kissed him, tender and sweet, loose tendrils of his long hair falling down to tickle his cheeks, Quatre freed his hands to sink his fingers into the silken mass, amazed as he'd been the night before to find that someone had hair even more fine than his own. He let Zechs settle his larger body between his thighs, twining one calf around his hips and drawing him close. The press of Zech's waking cock against his own made him draw a slow breath and his stomach clench.

It was different in the daylight. Quatre felt more vulnerable, aware of his inexperience, aware of just how much bigger Zechs was—taller, more masculine and muscular, and yes, even the size of his cock seemed more intimidating than it had the night before. A blush stained his cheeks, vivid on his pale skin. 

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he reassured Zechs with a small smile. "It seems more real this morning. That's all."

"Last night wasn't real?"

A soft chuckle escaped Quatre. "It was. Of course it was. I suppose that I mean... there's nothing hidden between us now."

"I imagine we still have our secrets," Zechs stroked his brow. "But that's not what you mean either, is it?"

Quatre's blush deepened, the heat spreading to his chest. "No. I suppose not."

"You are beautiful," Zechs reassured him, laying a kiss upon the corner of his mouth. "I've always thought so."

"You have?"

"Yes," he purred. "Shall I show you? You asked me to tell you what I like—let me do both."

"I..." Quatre bit his lip, the idea both appealing and frightening. He'd already had a taste of Zechs' idea of foreplay and he wasn't sure that he could survive it combined with that velvet voice whispering praises and deliciously wicked suggestions.

"If we only have today before you have to leave," Zechs nipped at his ear, catching the lobe between careful teeth, "I should like to take my time with you. I'll give you something to remember in the nights to come."

"O-oh..." he shivered. Arched. _Writhed._

"May I?"

"Yes. Yes, please, yes..."

Chuckling, Zechs scattered kisses across Quatre's flushed chest, following the gentle curves of his collarbones. He murmured appreciative words as he explored every scar and freckle he hadn't been able to see in the darkness of night. Quatre watched with heavy-lidded eyes and a blush, his hands running idly over Zechs' shoulders and arms. He liked the broadness of him, the way his muscles played under pale skin and the way his hands wrapped around his waist. It was intimidating, yes, but the truth was... he trusted Zechs not to hurt him. Zechs didn't ask—or even expect—him to submit to his greater size, strength or experience.

When Quatre pushed him away, urged him to lay back the way they had started, Zechs went with a smile. Propped up against the pillows, he combed his hair back away from his face to watch the younger man untangle himself from the sheets and lay along the length his legs. Quatre kissed his stomach, pressed his cheek against the firm muscles as he toyed with the drawstring on Zechs' pajama pants. He licked his lips.

"I... I want to go down on you. C-can I?" He looked up with that perpetual blush, mentally damning his fair skin and the stutter in his words. It had been awhile, nearly a year, since he'd offered to do this with another man. Maybe that was why he was nervous now, when he'd already given Zechs everything else and had no reason to be shy.

"I'd love that." A shiver ran through Zechs' body and Quatre felt bolder.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he ran his hand up the inside of the prince's thigh, over his hip and across the soft skin of his stomach. He dipped his fingers down past the waistband of his pajamas, running along the tracery of darker blond hair before grasping Zechs' erection.

The prince hissed through his teeth, gripping at the bed sheets and twisting his hips. Quatre smiled at the reaction, wishing he'd done this the night before, but he had been shy and Zechs had been almost overwhelming in his generosity. He'd given Quatre everything once he realized the younger man was still—technically—a virgin, asking nothing for himself in return. 

Quatre thought they both did the single-minded thing very well.

And now he focused on pleasing Zechs, tugging down his pajama pants just far enough to free his cock. It was much like the rest of the man: long and elegant. He wasn't quite as pale here, the blood blushing him darker and the crown darker yet, which Quatre circled with his thumb, drawing back the foreskin to reveal him fully. He ran the back of one finger down the underside, liking the way that it made Zechs twitch, and cupped his balls in the palm of his hand.

"I wish I'd seen you last night," he murmured, more to himself than to the man he was fondling. He leaned over to kiss Zechs' hip, following the lines of him with lips and tongue. He scraped his teeth over his belly, made him draw a shivery breath.

He rubbed his thigh again, finding a sensitive spot at the juncture where leg met body, just below the crest of his hip. He kissed it, marking it in his mind for later. He didn't want to tease, not really. Not yet.

He wrapped his hand around Zechs' length again, stroking him casually even though his heart was pounding. He wasn't sure if he was even capable of touching the other man without feeling his pulse race.

Zechs stroked his hair, gentle as he ran his fingers all the way down to his nape. Quatre shivered and looked up at him. They shared a smile, Quatre's turning sad as he thought of something.

"Please don't try to hold my head down," he warned. 

"I won't," he promised. "Everything goes at your speed. Everything."

"Thank you." 

Zechs inclined his head in a nod and Quatre knew he was wondering. He might tell him one day, if they ever reached the point where they talked of old loves, could-have-beens and flat-out mistakes. He had one of each.

He stretched up to lay a kiss on Zechs' mouth, lingering and chaste. Appreciative. Zechs caressed his cheek with the back of one hand, played with his hair again, distracting himself as Quatre stroked him. Quatre thought the way his eyes fluttered shut, the way he drew a shaking breath through softly parted lips and arched his hips was beautiful.

"I want to make you come apart," he whispered, his gentle voice firm with promise.

"And here I thought you were the blushing virgin," Zechs teased, shifting as lips pressed kisses to his shoulder, his collar and chest, tongue teasing over one blush pink nipple. Quatre's hand alternately stroked and squeezed. 

"I thought you knew not to underestimate me."

Zechs laughed, shaking his head. "It seems not."

Quatre kissed him once more, quickly, and then resettled himself to lay between his legs. He rubbed his cheek against Zechs' upper thigh and looked up the length of his strong, pale body. Keeping contact with ice blue eyes, he laved his tongue over the sensitive spot he'd found on Zechs' hip. It made him jerk and his breathing come quicker.

"Quatre..."

The smile he gave was one of innocence. He'd been told it was disconcerting and Zechs' shiver didn't disappoint. It made him feel confident and powerful, reminded him that he wasn't a blushing virgin, no matter his lack of experience in other kinds of sex. This, he could do. This, he was good at.

Circling Zechs at his base, Quatre ran his tongue up the underside of his cock, closing his eyes to better concentrate. The taste of salt, the smell of musk, the velvet softness of skin stretched tight. Zechs' shuddering moan filled his ears and made him press his own hips down into the mattress.

Everything was easier from there. 

Quatre licked and kissed, tracing the shape of him. He slid the flat of his tongue over the gathering precome at his tip before taking the blood-blushed head into his mouth. Zechs fisted the sheets at his side and groaned, body tensing as he fought not to buck up into Quatre's mouth. In gratitude, Quatre stroked his stomach and sucked a little more firmly.

He found a rhythm, alternately sucking Zechs into his mouth and then licking his crown like he was gathering melting ice cream. It made the other blond gasp and give aborted little thrusts of his hips. When Quatre finally, finally stopped teasing and—with one hand gripping Zechs's cock and the other palming his balls, running his thumb along the center—took more than just the head into his mouth, Zechs gave a half-strangled shout. Quatre pulled off with a laugh, brushing his bangs back as he looked up at Zechs.

If he was beautiful before, he was stunning now. His hair was a mess, sticking to sweat-sheened cheeks and shoulders. His scars stood out against his flushed skin, badges of honor rather than blemishes. When he opened his eyes, they glittered a darker shade of glacier blue and his full lips were red and bitten. He rubbed one long-fingered hand—those beautiful, talented hands—over his chest, idly circling one peaked nipple.

"Please." His voice, already deep and velvet, had gone ragged.

Quatre looked at him, letting his emotions fill his face. He'd never been good at hiding them, even if this was the right time to do it. It wasn't, and so he let Zechs see the whole of him. Pleased, happy, admiring and confident. He loved this man, his dear friend, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could fall in love with him. 

"Quatre. Please."

He shook his head, smiling slightly. "I won't make you beg."

Making good on that promise, Quatre slid Zechs' cock back into his mouth, swallowing him deep and deeper. He went slow, out of practice and unused to Zechs' size, relaxing his throat as best as he could but still having to fight the urge to choke.

"Quatre, you don't have to—" Zechs started to say, his words catching on a moan as Quatre's throat convulsed.

His protest, his cry, the feel of him, firm and throbbing... all of that made Quatre's chest tighten, his stomach clench and his own cock ache. He wanted nothing more than to please this wonderful man, the friend he had never expected to desire or be desired by.

Tears sprang to his eyes that he didn't think came from fighting his gag reflex.

He took Zechs further on the second try, struggling less as he remembered how to balance breathing, swallowing and the slide of a cock in his throat. He couldn't take him as deep as he wanted to, but he thought that Zechs would be more than willing to let him practice in the future.

The bedroom narrowed down into this one moment, Quatre's focus sharpening the way it had when he was in battle. All that he worried about was Zechs, his own body forgotten as he sucked and swallowed, concentrating on the taste of him on his tongue, the way he filled his mouth and throat, the harsh little moans that the man couldn't quite smother or the tiny involuntary twitches of his hips as he met each bob of Quatre's golden head. The tension in Zechs' legs and stomach, the way he tore at the sheets in an effort to control himself... Quatre was sure that he was near coming and he wanted that. Wanted to see Zechs come apart the way he'd promised.

Quatre stroked with his hand what he couldn't fit into his mouth, eased off so that he was sucking fast and hard, tongue lashing the crown with each pull. He watched Zechs with blue-green eyes that had gone ocean dark. Zechs tossed his head, eyes squeezed shut and his aristocratic face blushed as he panted for breath, the muscles of his neck standing out as he held himself back from the edge. He was trembling, lost and beautiful as he finally lost control.

"Qua-Quatre, I—"

The warning was thoughtful, unnecessary. Quatre sealed his lips around the tip of his cock, working the rest with his hand, feeling him throb with each pulse of hot come. He swallowed, not minding the bitter-salt taste as much as he usually did, in part because of the way Zechs looked at him when he did, like a man broken and rebuilt by the pain of pleasure. Of being wanted. Loved, in whatever way that might be.

"Mine," Quatre whispered, pressing forehead to hip, reverent, even as he stroked Zechs through the last of his tremors. "My beautiful, dear Zechs..." 

Zechs blinked down at him, huffing a small laugh and threading his fingers through Quatre's hair. His hand was shaking.

"Quatre..."

A little unsteady himself, the younger man crawled up over Zechs to lay partially draped across his chest. He ignored his own erection, though it was more difficult now without the distraction, and pushed damp bangs away from Zech's face. He started to kiss him, hesitated.

"It's fine," Zechs assured him, completing the gesture himself. It was a lazy, pleased kiss that left Quatre both breathless and satisfied with himself.

"You liked that then?" he recalled their earlier words, when Zechs had said he liked his mouth.

"Very much so," he dropped his head back against the pillows to stare at the ceiling. He seemed to be searching for words, and that made Quatre even happier. "I think it turns out that I'll be the one left with something to remember while you're gone."

"I'm sure you can return the favor," Quatre settled down into his embrace, seeking out Zechs' hand and sliding it between his legs. He bit his lip as that skilled hand gave him a slow stroke. "Ohh... that is... if you can remember your own name?"

"I assure you, Quatre," Zechs chuckled, wolfish and wicked, "remembering names will not be _my_ problem."

—END—


End file.
